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Eileen Xu Nov 2016
There is no beauty
In the remains
Of crumbling human. Soft
Tissue upon bruise upon
Broken bone bending
Bending to fit the roses
Bleeding from open wound
Bending to chocolate
Mould seeping from every crack
And crevice.

There is no beauty
In mirrored shards of life
Sharp enough to tear
Through tendon, tearing
Through towns and cities built on
Misery and crushing grief
There is no beauty

No beauty
In glass tears from glass eyes
Crying fallen stars and supernovae
No beauty
In disembodied screams
Lungless cries
Say goodbye to your life
This is real life
There is no beauty in
My life
There is no beauty
In me.
A poem in which I try to tackle the romanticisation of mental illness. It is not a glamorous life, I'll tell you that much.

— The End —